The Delta Solution (9 page)

“I will. And we’ll confer at 0600 before the trade union’s press release.”

“Yes, sir,” said Zack as he left the room. “I’ll have someone draft it this evening. Then our friend the union boss can release it to Reuters, or one of the other news agencies, at 0900 tomorrow.”

The general went straight up to the fourth floor to the navy department, where Mark Bradfield was heavily ensconced with Major Harry Blythe, and Mary-Ann McCormac’s fingers were flying over her computer keyboard, rounding up every last detail on the crew of the
Niagara Falls
. She had two cell phones on her desk, both tuned to a push-button satellite route to the bridge of the ship. Conversations with Captain Corcoran were mere seconds away at any time of the night.

A third phone next to her keyboard was programmed to the cell phone of Admiral Ismael Wolde, whom Mark Bradfield had decreed could just “keep his black ass waiting” until the US Navy was good and ready.

Major Harry Blythe was through talking to the duty officer at the British Embassy up the hill on Massachusetts Avenue before 2030. He did not explain precisely why the Pentagon wished to enlist the embassy to
help with a large transfer of money to Nairobi via Barclays Bank, but the young attaché on the line sensed it was sufficiently important to inform the ambassador right away.

Sir Archie Compton left an embassy dinner and promised Harry he would facilitate the operation immediately. “I’ll have the High Commission in Kenya monitor it. You can pay us right here, which will save you a lot of trouble and a hell of a lot of time.”

“As a matter of pure interest, in case I’m asked,” said Harry, “how does the money actually travel?”

Britain’s ambassador to Washington answered: “Pentagon wires to this embassy’s bank account,” he said. “I’ll give you the address and IBAN. Then we’ll have our local bank here wire to Barclays International on Wall Street. They wire to Barclays downtown Nairobi. It’s a big branch right on Moi Avenue, at Kenyatta.”

“Sir, how could you possibly know that?” asked Harry.

“Family lived there, old boy, my father was High Commissioner during the Mau Mau rising—damned nearly ended up with an assegai stuck in his arse.”

Harry said, “I’m really grateful to you, sir. And, just so you know, when the 5 million comes in, it will be under the name of the Seafarers International Union.”

“Wouldn’t matter to us if it came from the account of the Mothers’ Union,” said Sir Archie. “Just get it in there, and we’ll make sure it’s bagged up, waiting for you in cash in Nairobi within two hours, tomorrow morning . . . Tell your chaps to pick up a couple of ours at the High Commission. They can go to the bank together. No mistakes that way.

“By the way, can you tell me what you want it for? Just for interest. Not starting another bloody war, are you?”

Harry Blythe entirely forgot everyone was sworn to secrecy and instantly decided to regard Sir Archie Compton as a member of the US team. “Sir, we just had an 18,000-ton aid ship boarded and captured by pirates in the Indian Ocean. They’re heavily armed, we got one man dead, and in this case we decided to let the Seafarers Union pay up for their men.”

“That’s sometimes much better,” said Sir Archie. “Rescues often cost more than ransoms. And people do get killed too often. How’re you getting the money out?”

“By air, sir. Military aircraft.”

“Tell ’em to work with our military attaché in the Kenya High Commission. And use the smaller airfield, Wilson that is, out along the Mgathi Way. We used to own the place.”

“Thank you, sir. And will you have someone e-mail the British Embassy’s bank account details to me here at the Pentagon, Office of the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs.”

“Chairman, eh?” said the ambassador. “You chaps must be a lot more concerned than you’re letting on. Anything else we can do to help, just call me on my private line. Give Zack Lancaster my best, will you?”

Harry Blythe had just received a short lesson on why Sir Archie Compton was generally regarded as the best ambassador in the entire British Foreign Service—because he was witty, unassuming, clued-up, wellconnected, and vastly experienced. He’d plucked the truth out of Harry like a ripe plum on a tree. Effortless. Harry never even realized it had happened. Until he put the phone down.

“Holy shit,” he breathed. “I shouldn’t have told him all that.”

But the money complication was over, and he had solved it. Right down to the point of collection at Barclays Bank on Moi Avenue in Nairobi.

Nonetheless, Harry was worried about how much he had revealed to the British ambassador. Though he need not have been. Because Sir Archie merely stored the information, understanding it was not necessary for his government to know. It had nothing to do with the Brits, or anyone else.

Meanwhile Admiral Bradfield and Lieutenant Commander Souchak were moving fast on the line to the US Navy’s Fifth Fleet headquarters in Bahrain and operational command in Diego Garcia. It was plainly imperative to move at least two warships into the ops area around the
Niagara Falls
and have them stand by to blow the pirate ship out of the water if necessary. If the money drop went smoothly, they could then escort Captain Corcoran back to safe harbor in DG.

Right now it was also necessary to have on standby an aircraft capable of flying nonstop into Kenya, a distance of 2,200 nautical miles from Diego Garcia, which would mean a six-hour journey for a P-3C Orion with its 4,000-nautical-mile range. It would also mean refuelling, which the Brits would easily organize at Wilson Airport.

Mark Bradfield was also on the line to Admiral Andy Carlow at SPECWARCOM in Coronado, and the SEAL boss almost visibly groaned when he heard that a large former US Navy vessel had been captured by what he described as “a small force of Somali tribesmen with fucking blowpipes.”

“How the hell did it happen?” he asked Admiral Bradfield.

“Mostly because our ship is a merchantman now and is not armed in any way,” he replied.

“Valuable cargo?”

“’Bout $100 million worth.”

“Is that all? What was it?”

“Aid. A USAID consignment. Food, medicine, shelters, and a few workers.”

“Bound for? . . .”

“Somalia.”

“Jesus Christ! You mean they hijacked their own stuff?”

“’Fraid it’s not like that in their country. Everybody’s fighting everybody else. The pirates are independent of their own government, independent of their own nation. They just act on their own. That goddamned Somalia’s completely lawless. Even when we get aid through to them, it just gets stolen by tribal warlords. Hardly anything gets through to where it’s supposed to go.”

“Then what the hell are we doing sending it there?” snapped Admiral Carlow. “If they don’t steal it on land, they steal it on the high seas. That’s what you’re telling me.”

Admiral Bradfield had rarely heard the SEAL C-in-C quite so irritated. “Steady, Andy,” he said. “I didn’t send it personally.”

“No, I know. It just really pisses me off. Not that the government is out spending millions of dollars of taxpayers’ money on hopeless causes. But that we’re not fucking ready. We’re totally unprepared for this kind of attack. A bunch of goddamned savages in a friggin’ canoe somehow seizes a huge modern American freighter while it’s making 15 knots through the water out in the middle of the ocean.”

“Just as you say, Andy, we simply weren’t ready.”

“And think how long it would take us to prepare a rescue operation. Just getting my SEALs in there, way offshore, attacking from the surface
or from the air, without any specialist training. I mean right here we’re in the fucking Spanish Main, and the truth is we’re just not ready for sixteenth-century piracy.”

“Look, on this occasion at least, it’s a great deal easier and cheaper for us to pay the ransom and get the ship and crew back . . .”

“Don’t tell me the White House has agreed to negotiate with pirates?” Admiral Carlow interrupted, “That’s a real first.”

“No, tell you the truth, we’ve had to be a bit light-footed,” said Mark Bradfield. “And we’re not planning to ask any of our commanders to risk the lives of their men. But how do you feel about sending in SEALs on operations like this?”

“Badly. Because people would get killed trying to get aboard from the ocean, unless we came in behind heavy rocket attack, and that would almost certainly kill members of the ship’s crew and damage the ship itself.”

“And that, Andy, puts us right back to square one. Except for that one time when your guys did get on board the captured ship, the
Maersk Alabama
, then shot the pirates to free up the captain in the lifeboat.”

“I know, Mark. But that was a bit of a landmark. The guys we were after were not on the main ship. And the ship was unguarded. It was all a bit unusual. And everything was in our favor so long as my guys remembered how to shoot straight.”

“Well, I called just to keep you in the loop. But we all have to think about this—because no one is more aware than I am that the payment of this ransom shows a serious weakness on our part. Tonight those oceangoing bandits understand that the US will pay up if our backs are to the wall. Yesterday they had no reason to believe that could ever happen . . .”

“I know, Mark. But you gotta win the fight you’re in. Not the one next week.”

“Guess so. Let’s both give it some thought. Bear in mind, we can’t send an armed warship to escort every US tanker or freighter in the Middle and Far East. It costs $60,000 a day to keep those suckers out there. But we have to come up with something.”

AT 0500 THE GUIDED-MISSILE FRIGATE USS
Ingraham
cleared Diego Garcia about ten miles astern of the 9,000-ton guided-missile destroyer
USS
Roosevelt
. An SH-60 Sikorsky Seahawk helicopter gunship was embarked on board each of them, armed heavily with machine guns and hellfire missiles. The two warships were ordered to make flank speed for 1,200 miles directly to the point on the ocean where the
Niagara Falls
now wallowed, helpless under the armed control of primitive foreign invaders. It would take them less than forty-eight hours.

Five hours later, Britain’s High Commission in Nairobi informed Britain’s Washington Embassy the sum of $5 million in cash was awaiting collection by US personnel at the Barclays Bank offices on Moi Avenue.

Thirty minutes later, a P-3C Orion Navy Anti-Submarine Warfare aircraft came hurtling down the Diego Garcia runway and rocketed up into the clear blue skies above the base, banked hard, and headed due west for the shores of East Africa. At the controls was Lt. Com. Aaron Marshall assisted by his engineer officer and navigator, Lt. Raymond K. Rossi.

Behind them sat a special four-man navy guard, all qualified air crew, who would accompany them in two vehicles provided by the British High Commission for the round-trip from Wilson Airfield to the bank and back. The guards all carried M-4 light machine guns. Any one of them could fly the aircraft in an emergency.

Lieutenant Commander Marshall swiftly took the big Orion to its 30,000-feet cruising altitude and set her speed for 400 knots per hour. Lieutenant Rossi sat next to him in the co-pilot’s chair. They would land in Nairobi at 1600 hours, and the two officers would be guests of the British High Commission overnight, with an ETD of 1800 hours the following evening.

The guards would remain with the aircraft and supervise the refuelling. There was no way the US Navy was going to air-drop that cash onto the deck of
Niagara Falls
before the American warships were in place, port and starboard. They were scheduled to arrive shortly before 2100.

General Lancaster and Admiral Bradfield caucused at 0600 as planned on the navy department’s fourth floor. Lieutenant Commander Souchak, who had assumed a loose command, had been there all night, twice speaking to Captain Corcoran, both times conscious that Wolde was very happy to cooperate.

Thanks to the swift intervention of Sir Archie Compton, the finance was all in place. There was a report from DG that the Orion was scheduled to land in Nairobi in two hours, and the two warships had been steaming west for several hours.

The press release had been prepared and would be automatically e-mailed to Reuters from the Pentagon on behalf of the Seafarers Union, signed by the union boss himself. All future media inquiries were to be directed to the Seafarers’ HQ out in Camp Springs. General Lancaster had a suspicion this would lead to pure chaos on an unprepared union switchboard.

But neither of the military chiefs cared about that. Chaos was good in situations like this when a smoke screen, not clarity, was the objective, and Mark Bradfield observed, “Well, they’re making a very easy quartermillion for this. Might as well make ’em earn it.”

Almost 7,000 miles away, the
Niagara Falls
was beginning to roll on the rising swell of the Indian Ocean. Without her forward propulsion, this was an unusual, exaggerated motion, and several of the crew were feeling decidedly ill. However the engines were still running and the generators were active as she pitched and yawed in the outer limits of the Somali current.